


Closer To Reality

by blondeonblonde



Series: The Celebrity Years [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Celebrity Status, First Kiss, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, One Shot, TV interview, oblivious!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondeonblonde/pseuds/blondeonblonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a series of one-shots based on Sherlock's celebrity status.</p><p>John is invited onto The Graham Norton Show to promote his blog being turned into a book. The experience helps him and Sherlock come to some realisations about their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer To Reality

_Television is actually closer to reality than anything in books. The madness of TV is the madness of human life._  
**Camille Paglia**

 

John sat in the plush chairs in the green room of the Graham Norton show bouncing with nervous anticipation. It was his first real TV appearance if you didn’t count being harassed by the press for details of the latest crime scene, or publicity shots at various awards evenings Sherlock had been invited to. So rather it wasn’t his first TV appearance, but rather his first _solo_ engagement, where he was there because of his own merit, rather than as a sidekick, a footnote to the genius of Sherlock Holmes.

Part of him wished Sherlock was there to take his mind off his nerves and his publicists fervent coaching (how to promote his book without seeming arrogant or desperate) but then he’d never be able to behave himself with so much waiting around. The detective had also been absent from Baker Street for the past few days, off conducting some experiment or other and John was sure Sherlock had not been listening when he got the exciting call to ask him to appear.  In a way it should feel nice to be here on his own – this book was something he had done himself, ok, it was _about_ Sherlock but that didn’t mean John shouldn’t take the credit. He’d spent a lot of time perfecting his blog and then translating it into the format for the book. This was the reward for all of that hard work.

The other guests that week were Stephen Fry and Billie Piper. He watched them calmly preparing themselves, chatting to managers, stylists and hangers on, and wished he’d done this as many times as they had. Their experienced presence made him even more nervous and he feared not only looking unattractive and aging (next to the radiant Billie), but also being shown to be intellectually inferior (exposed to the rapier sharp wit of Stephen Fry). Although he was usually reasonably confident in himself he couldn’t help thinking he would stick out like a sore thumb next to such big name celebrities. Why had they asked him to come on again?

He had little time for a confidence breakdown, however, as an efficient looking woman gestured him to go through the doors that led to the studio floor. On the monitor nearest to him he could see Graham finishing his monologue and moving over to the interview area. Suddenly the green room was filled with official looking production assistants with headsets and clipboards and John steeled himself to put on his most confident and charming persona.

As he emerged onto the set there was a warm round of applause and his nerves settled a little as he sat down at the furthest edge of the sofa. Stephen Fry came in to rapturous noise and sat all 6 foot 4 of himself next to John, whilst Billie perched on the end nearest to Graham’s desk.

They started by talking to Billie about her latest film which thankfully gave John a bit of time to acclimatise to the environment and become a little more relaxed. So when Graham turned his attentions down the far end of the sofa, he was able to confidently join in the discussion.

“John! We’ve all read your blog”. Whoops and cheers come from the audience.  “And now you’ve got a book out?”

“Have I?”

With a roll of his eyes and a cheeky grin Graham swizzled around on his chair, opened the draw in his desk and produced a sleek hardback book. John felt a proud blush rise up on him. He still wasn’t used to seeing his work published, real, solid and available at all good bookshops.

“Oh! That old thing!” John managed to joke, even as he battled to keep his confidence.

“These are the stories of all your cases with Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yep. If you’ve heard of him you’ll know how exciting some of them can be!”

Stephen gave him an incredulous stare and interjected.

“Heard of him! Even if they’d missed all of that stuff with Richard Brook/Moriarty a few years ago you’ve hardly been keeping a low profile since then have you!” 

John chuckled “You could say that!” His mind flashed to the fans who had taken to following them around, the constant intrusion of the press and calls for interviews. Sherlock seemed to have evolved from being the world’s only consulting detective to the world’s only celebrity one.

“So how much of these stories are true?” Graham patted the books shiney surface and grinned playfully.

  
“They’re all true, of course they are! It’s literally the retelling of our cases. Everything in this book is from my blog – I’ve expanded each one a bit and taken out some of the more personal bits. This isn’t about me, it’s about the cases and Sherlock’s process of deduction. ”

 “I’m a huge fan” Stephen interjected, which made John swell with pride. “I follow all the cases, absolutely fascinating. I particularly enjoyed ‘The Loneliest Monk’. Although I’ve always had a question about that one. How did you know where to find the kidnapper?”

 “Ah, well. That was a tricky one. Sherlock had narrowed it down to this one group of Monks, living just on the outskirts of the town…

As he was explaining the details of the case, John became aware of a slight disturbance emanating from the audience. It was subtle at first, just a shifting and muttering coming from one corner, a slight disruption. As John continued to talk, however, the noise became louder and once an audible “wrong!” could be heard angrily muttered from amongst the crowds.  John stopped, frowned at the direction of the heckler, noticed the abrupt silence and continued his story.

“As I was saying… we were up on the hillside, by the ruins of the castle and we could hear this record player…”

“Oh! For God’s sake!” Another loud exclamation came from the audience and this time John couldn’t ignore it. He squinted upwards through the studio lights and saw a familiar outline. Tall, sharp suit, a mop of curly hair…

“Oh! Fuck off! No. Way!”

Everyone turned to face John, their attentions split between his sudden outburst and the exclamations coming from the audience. The house lights changed subtly so that the audience could be clearly seen from the studio floor and soon John could clearly see the unmistakable vision of his best friend rising calmly out of the throng of people, as if he had every right to be there.

“What the bloody hell do _you_ think you’re doing here?” John shouted across the studio, clenching his hands and taking his often employed Sherlock-will-be-the-death-of-me calming breaths.

“Trying to prevent you from committing factual errors on television, John. Obviously.”

“Oh, for..” Before John could finish this curse Graham had grasped the situation firmly and beckoned Sherlock down from the audience, who were in confused hysterics trying to work out if this was scripted or not. He came charging across the set in full explanation mode. “It was a gramophone, not a record player, John. And they’re Friars not Monks! The difference as I clearly pointed out at the time is that Monks are obliged to remain in their community. Once they enter the cloistered life they _don’t leave._ Friars, however are given assignments out in the community and around the world. He obviously couldn’t have been a Monk AND have been tasked with that mission….”

He had reached the sofa, turned elegantly and inserted himself between John and Stephen with a gentle flop backwards, maintaining his monologue throughout.

“…You clearly know this and are persisting in calling him a Monk just to make your stupid pun work.”

“It’s a good pun, he was a recluse and a monk, and he liked jazz! – it’s perfect.”

Sherlock made a huffing noise and crossed his arms sinking back into the sofa not in the least bit phased that that he’d just gate-crashed his way into being a guest on the most popular chat show in the country. John was quietly fuming at the intrusion although his brain soon turned to worry as he realised Sherlock was going into a huff and was simultaneously going to be allowed to speak on television. Instantly his protective instincts kicked in and overtook any irritation. This had to be damage control now. God, his publicist would be furious if he fucked this up!

“It is a book _about me_ , John. How can you expect me to stay quiet about your misleading information?”

“It’s about the spirit of the story, Sherlock. Sometimes the facts need to be embellished a bit, it’s called artistic license!”

“It’s called being wrong.” More sulking and more pouting followed as he withdrew more into himself.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I bother.” John playfully squeezed Sherlock’s knee to try and let him know his intrusion was forgiven, and they should project a united front.

“Does this happen often?” Billie giggled, clearly amused at the unusual turn of events.

“All the time!” John continued in a forced, jovial tone. “We have a draft copy of the book at home that he’s added hundreds of corrections to in the margin. I ignore him mostly.”

 “You’re very close, aren’t you? Flat mates, colleagues, best friends…“ Graham asked, a coy grin quirking his features. John turned to look at Sherlock and wondered how he could possibly voice what the crazy man meant to him. Right now, mostly embarrassment and irritation, but there was of course more underneath it than that.

  
“Well, yeah. He’s my best friend… was the best man at my wedding, but the less said about that the better! And when you’ve been through some of the life or death situations that we have you bond pretty strongly, you have to.” He was still looking at Sherlock whose expression was caught in a battle between disgusted and proud, settling instead on aloof, straightening out of his hunched position and folding his arms.

“Sentiment, John. Bit not good.” He whispered so that just John could hear, shaking his head but with a faint smile ghosting his lips.

“So, Sherlock, any juicy new cases you’d like to share with us?”

The interview continued in this manner for the next half hour. Between them they told a few funny anecdotes and explained a few cases. John did most of the talking with Sherlock interrupting to clarify or correct the narrative. Sherlock was altogether on pretty good behaviour, he was even able to keep quiet at some points to let the other guests talk about their latest projects. Their reception seemed to have been positive and they left the stage to whoops, cheers and laughter.

When at last the red chair was announced and the interview drew to a close, John let out a long sigh and couldn’t quite believe they’d just got away with that. It could have gone a lot worse.

After the show John greeted Graham warmly and shook his hand.  “Thank you so much for inviting me on and putting up with…that”. He nodded to where Sherlock was involved in a heated discussion with Stephen Fry, he wasn’t quite sure what the argument was about but he had heard the words “biometrics”, “waveform” and “logic gate” so he thought he was probably better off out of it. “Sorry about him interrupting, honestly I had no idea he was here!”

“Oh! Don’t mind that, it’ll be fantastic TV. The chemistry between the two of you will triple my ratings this week!” Graham gave him a wink and moved away leaving John to grab Sherlock by the arm and lead him to the exit. Better to leave whilst everyone was still charmed by him. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Sherlock said something disastrous and he had enjoyed his evening, despite everything. It would be a shame not to be allowed back on because _he_ offended someone! He was quietly thankful that this had happened on Graham’s show who had always enjoyed a bit of anarchy. A chill tingled through him as he imagined what would have happened if it had been Parkinson!

The following evening John poured himself a large glass of whisky and mentally prepared himself for the program. Had he embarrassed himself? Had Sherlock fucked things up or had they got away with his interruption?

Unfortunately the television was still in pieces after a never completed experiment so he had to balance his laptop on top of a stack of chemistry textbooks residing on the coffee table to be able to watch it on there. He opened a browser window, typed in the address for BBC iplayer and leaned back into the sofa to wait for the show to start.

Just as he was starting to relax, the whisky warming him from the inside and the sofa soft against his back, his phoned pinged with a text message.

  **Harry:** _Can’t wait to see my baby brother on TV tonight!_

Suddenly all relaxation was forgotten and his nerves started to bubble again with the stark realisation that everyone he knew would be watching.  

Just as the titles started and his nerves were at their apex, shoulders tight and fists scrunched, Sherlock came sauntering in from the street, shedding his coat and bringing with him a wave of calming familiarity. He grabbed his own laptop then settled himself in the open space on the sofa. John could tell he was trying to be coolly disinterested, but his very presence disproved this notion. That and the fact that he was sitting on the sofa rather than in his armchair, which was an obvious attempt to see the screen, even if his eyes were currently glued to his laptop.

 “I wasn’t sure you’d remember we were on tonight?” John enquired, slightly teasing.

“Oh, is that what you’re watching?” Sherlock replied vaguely, not looking up from his laptop.

“Don’t pretend you’re not interested!” John laughed and noticed him pout just slightly. He did hate being caught out.

 “Well…. I was there too.”

“Yes, thank you. Unfortunately I do remember! I still can’t believe you gate-crashed my appearance, you ridiculous man!”

“Oh, you enjoyed it really.” Sherlock continued to tap away on his laptop but now he also kept glancing up at the screen.

Sherlock fidgeted for the first 8 minutes of welcomes and waffle. It wasn’t surprising, he had of course sat through it all once already, and if there is anything he couldn’t stand, it was repetition. Once the guests were announced, however, he become stock still, frozen in deep concentration at the screen. He even discarded his laptop in favour of giving the program his full attention.

_“Later on we’ve got music and chat from La Roux, but first….. he’s one half of Britain’s finest crime-fighting duo….John Watson…”_

John grimaced as he appeared on screen. God. He looked old, when had he got so old? His hair looked greyer under the studio lights, he looked pudgy and where were his old muscles? He groaned at the exposure he suddenly felt- putting this out to millions of viewers.

“Don’t worry, John. You look perfectly suited to the occasion. Weathered but strong. If you looked too pristine people would doubt you’d truly lived the life you claim in the book!”

John grinned at the mostly-compliment (a rare occurrence) before considering how pristine and elegant Sherlock always looked. Eyes glistening their unusual colours, slim and lean, not a grey hair in sight.

“Bullshit! I look like an old man, no-one’s going to believe I’m capable of a thing!”

Before Sherlock could answer John’s phone pinged again.

**Bill:** _Phwoar! Lucky you. You couldn’t get me Billie Piper’s phone number could you!_

**John:** _Oh yeah, mate. If I could get that I’d just pass it onto you, sure thing!_

_“John! We’ve all read your blog. And now you’ve got a book out?”_ The interview turned to focus on John, and he was pleased to find everything seemed to be going down well. He’d managed to answer the first few questions coherently and the audience were laughing. As sounds of a disruption started to drift across the set he braced himself for what he knew was going to happen next. Beside him Sherlock took an only-just audible intake of breath as he appeared on screen.

 **Molly:** _Oh my God! He didn’t_!

 **Harry:** _No way!_ _Fucking_ _hilarious!_

Now with the distance of 24 hours and knowledge of how things turned out John had to agree that Sherlock’s outburst was pretty funny, and the initial banter between them seemed to be going down alright too.

_“It was a gramophone, not a record player, John. And they’re Friars not monks!_

**Greg** : _Oh! This is priceless! Wish I’d been there._

It was ok, everything was fine! John let out a long breath he hadn’t even realised he had been holding and settled back into the sofa to enjoy the rest of the show.

This contentment was short-lived however as the John on screen gave Sherlock’s knee a squeeze and suddenly things didn’t look so amusing. At the time John had definitely meant it playfully and as a reassurance, but looking at it from here it seemed a little over-friendly. He groaned again, acknowledging that the knee squeeze may look more intimate than he had planned.

 **Harry:** _OMG! You are such a couple!_

Fuck! Not this again. Really it was getting too tedious to have to correct everyone. What’s a little knee-grope between friends, honestly!

“Why does everyone think we’re a couple? I just touched your knee, that’s all!” John blurted out. He wasn’t sure Sherlock had even noticed that it looked a little odd, his personal boundaries being what they were.

 “Gratuitous physical contact.” Sherlock answered pointing at the screen. Now, as well as the knee/hand incident, John was wrestling his book from Sherlock’s grasp where he’d snatched it to find some of the facts he claimed were wrong.  One of John’s hands was over Sherlock’s on the book jacket whilst the other was high on his thigh as he leaned over to prise it out of his grasp. Sherlock for his part also had a hand on John’s waist for balance. No-one could deny they were pressed very close to each other.

 **Bill:** _Jesus! Get a room!_

“Why can’t everyone accept we’re just friends?” John yelled at his phone, he was beginning to think the whole interview idea had been a massive mistake, he certainly could live without having to tackle more questions about the nature of their relationship.

“It is certainly starting to look incriminating.” Sherlock muttered.

“Oh! Piss off!”

“John…”

 “And why are you sitting so close to me?” John pointed at the screen and glared at Sherlock who stared back defiantly.

“We were all squeezed in. I wasn’t supposed to be there was I!”

“No, look, Stephen moved up for you, there was plenty of room.”

Sherlock looked down at where his hands fidgeted in his lap, clearly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t realise I was too close”

Only then did John look down himself and realised that even now, despite a long length of available sofa, they were both sitting in the middle, thighs pressed together.

“Damn it!” John shifted over slightly to show willing until a couple of inches separated them.

 **Greg:** _Seriously mate, you guys sure you’re not shagging?_

**Bill:** _Phew! The heat on that sofa is nuclear._

John read through the messages and was about to moan about them again when his eyes were drawn back to the screen. Sherlock was telling them the story about their first case ‘A Study in Pink’ and John was staring into his eyes as he spoke, a far-away grin on his lips. He hadn’t realised he was doing that! The John on screen licked his lips subconsciously as he continued to stare at Sherlock. Then Sherlock reached a part of the story where John was involved and turned to look him in the eyes, pinning him in place with his deep stare. They held their gaze for several minutes through the remainder of the story and the tension on screen was incredible. Although there were three other people in shot, all eyes at home would have been on the pair.

Epiphany struck and with a fluttering jolt deep in his body John suddenly saw it all, everything everyone else must have been able to see for months. God! It was so obvious! The stares, the touches, the looks: he was in love with the mad bastard!

**_Harry:_ ** _Just kiss him already_

**Bill:** _3 continents Watson can’t be that blind, surely! Punch him or kiss him!_

“Jesus Christ!” His whole view of himself suddenly threatened, John couldn’t quite conjure rational thought.

“Quite.”

Sherlock, to give him credit, seemed equally shocked. He was sitting blankly blinking in his startled way staring mutely at the screen. They sat in shocked silence for a good few minutes utterly aware of the press of their thighs as they sat too close on the sofa again and the absence of breath as each man held still.

John was the first to crack. “Did you know?”  


“Did I know what?”

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock! Did you know what we _look_ like? What total ARSES we’ve made of ourselves?”

Sherlock still wouldn’t look at John and continued to stare at the opposite wall, sitting ramrod straight. He seemed stuck somehow, trying to process whatever thoughts trilled through his over-active mind. When at last he found his voice it was bitter and tight.

“Oh, of course John. Of course I’m _happy_ parading my sentiment around on television like that, of course I _purposely_ let the world see how achingly _human_ I am.” He was seething with embarrassment and his words had a deep sarcastic bite. “And of course I _wanted_ you to feel ashamed at having been observed by millions staring at me. Just what I deem a perfect Friday night!”

“Oh, no, Sherlock, I didn’t mean…I don’t mean we’ve made arses of ourselves because we’re clearly…uh…attracted…to each other.” John reached a hand up to rub his own neck, he’d always been crap at talking about his feelings. “I mean we look stupid because it’s so obvious and we’ve never realised it. All of that “we’re just friends” business and the sexual tension on that sofa is practically humming.”

He looked between them and felt the same tingle across his skin here as he could sense on screen. Now that his eyes had been opened to it he could interpret the jitters and warmth that often came upon him as lust, where previously he had interpreted them as irritation, worry or adrenaline.

“Just…how could you not see it? You can tell one person is attracted to another just by the quirk of an eyebrow or the twitch of an index finger, how could you not see that?” He points at the screen. “We’re practically groping each other!”

Sherlock turned sheepish, his eyes glancing down and away from John.

“Well, I knew how I feel… but it’s a bit trickier when I’m actually involved. I can’t trust my own judgement. I thought I was hiding it. Keeping my feelings under control – but it looks like they slip out anyway. I obviously don’t have as much self-control as I believed.”

“How do you feel about me?” John was pleading, confused and desperate to be able to talk about this properly.

“John…” Sherlock turned away, his barriers rapidly rising, where so far he had been uncharacteristically open.

“No. You said you know how you feel, well tell me, ‘cause I don’t bloody know anything right now.”

He raked his hand through his short greying hair and swivelled around on the sofa to face Sherlock. His knee pressed into long bony thigh, and his feet hooked up underneath him pressed into the sofa’s soft cushions. He groaned again. Much as he wanted Sherlock to take control here he could see that he needed some help to be able to express these difficult emotions. After all John wasn’t the only one who found talking about this stuff difficult, Sherlock could win a prize for emotional repression. He took a deep breath and went for it.

“I just thought you were my best friend that I just sort of…fancied a bit. But _that_ is not how I behave towards my friends!” He nodded towards the screen again. “I can see now I’m bloody infatuated with you, aren’t I? Like a blushing schoolgirl. I didn’t even recognise it in myself but the evidence is there! I’ve got to accept the available data, isn’t that what you always say? And that data says that I’ve been an idiot.”

“ _We’ve_ been idiots, John. I did know and have known for a long time what this was for me. That this is the most meaningful relationship in my life. That I would do anything for you. That my life revolves around you in a way I’d never even imagined a life could. I have lived a solitary life. Cold and dark…And you have brought me warmth and light.” He stopped a moment to check John’s face and make sure he hadn’t over-stepped too many boundaries. Finding only tenderness and approval he continued. “But I’ve never done any of this before, I don’t know how to tell if it’s the same for you. I had data, but I couldn’t trust the results.”

John slid one hand onto Sherlock’s thigh and started to softly run it up and down the seam of his trousers.

“Can you trust it now?”

Sherlock’s hand brushed downwards cautious and shy to join his. John stalled and flipped his hand so that their fingers could slip into the groves of the other and they became pressed together at the palms. A softness lit up Sherlock’s face and John could feel his own lips spread into an answering smile.  He wasn’t sure where this was headed or exactly what Sherlock expected from the situation, but now that he had become aware of where the energy and excitement came from when he was around Sherlock. Had a name for the feeling of warmth and comfort he experienced when they were together. He knew he would never look back. He had to follow this wherever it went.

He wanted to scoop up the impossible man into his arms and never let him go, explore what they could be to each other. Even if he had to teach Sherlock how to be in a relationship, battle for every romantic moment, give up sex, find body parts in the fridge for the rest of his life. He could see on the screen a valid basis for a relationship. A chemistry that natural was a perfect building block for whatever came next.

 John huffed out a baffled laugh and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it looks as if we were a couple after all!”

 “But without any of the good bits.” Sherlock mirrored his eyebrow lift but coupled it a look of utter smut that was unlike any emotion John had seen grace his features previously. It once again shot his brain to hell, but only because all of the blood in his body was rushing to another extremity.

“Would you like the…uh…good bits?...I didn’t think you were interested in any of that?” He managed to stutter out.

  
“Look at me John! It’s hideously obvious I am.” Sherlock pointed to the screen where he was staring at John like he wanted to devour him.

As the credits rolled Sherlock leaned into him and whispered, “I don’t know much about how these things generally work, but I do believe we should kiss now... if you are amenable.”

This pushed John into action, he couldn’t stand being given relationship guidance by Mr not-my-area! He pulled his hand away from Sherlock’s thigh then caressed it up the side of his arm to cup his cheek, his other hand matching his movements on the other side of his lean body. Sherlock closed his eyes languidly, like a cat in the sun and tilted his head fractionally to the side to lean into John’s palm. With fingers tangled in the soft curls at his nape and thumbs rubbing circles on high cheekbones, John leant in to press a chaste kiss on the plump lips in front of him.

Closed mouth, exploratory kisses quickly gave way to flashes of tongue, roaming hands and stifled groans. Sherlock soon got the hang of proceedings and before he knew it John was on his back on the sofa with six foot of consulting detective sucking at his neck, a thigh pressing into groin and no worries about whether his lust might be requited or not.

The next time they are invited onto the show they sit next to each other from the beginning, hold hands and tell the world they are a couple. Although Sherlock hated the idea of public sentiment, his desire to show John off to the world with the word “mine” stamped across him proved too much of a temptation. Besides it was getting increasingly irritating to be questioned about his love life in the street. Everyone who met them had apparently seen the interview and wanted to know if they had got together yet. So they decided on a public declaration and where better than the show that made them realise what was there was between them. There is no crackling tension this time, no sparks flying, just the solid, calm, warmth of two people who are in love, and finally, finally know it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write as I love the GN show, Stephen Fry and Billie Piper. I would have loved to write more about them all interacting but the word count was definitely running away with me - this is already way longer than I was expecting!
> 
> If you enjoyed this check out my other works and my tumblr (barbarismbeginsatholmes.tumblr.com) for updates, illustrations and pics. 
> 
> Quick not on the case they were discussing...The Monk/Friar debate comes from an episode of Lewis where Hathaway describes them as: “Monks stay in and chant a lot. Friars get out and about.” However Lewis, as John here, keeps getting them mixed up.


End file.
